Queen of the Road
by Shinzo-X
Summary: Meer'Talos is a liar, a thief, and a traitor to many more than just the Migrant Fleet. But that hardly makes her a bad person.
1. 001

The _Haven_.

Meer'Talos, eyes hidden behind her enviro-suit's mask, scanned the data terminal screen in front of her.

Other identical screens displaying various data and images covered three of the four cabin walls. Above the small cot behind her there hung a swath of bright red and violet fabric, thick like wool, with something embroidered along the bottom in quarian script. It showed nearly a decade of wear, although little dust – Talos kept her cabin specially filtered after all.

A small shelf near the cot held a pile of aging tech manuals, a couple of modified omnitools, and a disassembled M-6 Carnifex pistol. She was more of a soldier than a machinist, but always did her fair share of tinkering, to keep twitchy trigger fingers busy if nothing else.

As quarian names cascaded down the display she tapped a key to pause it, another to open the voice command function and spoke slowly and deliberately, "Search."

A small box blinked onto the screen. She continued: "Kenn'Dekazza. Faro'Dan. Sol'Veema. Zha'Gerrel." The program took note and began scouring the contents of the database for her queries.

She sighed and sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. Seventeen million quarians were all logged in this database – _the_ database, listing every quarian currently living and serving on the Migrant Fleet – without the luxury of quantum computing, she was ready for a long wait. But Talos was finding it difficult, remembering to breathe.

Twenty minutes went by, then thirty, with no hits. A low hum from the hulking mass of salvaged tech that powered Talos' personal terminal could be heard over the cacophony of the old ship. She liked it. The sounds calmed her nerves, which were stretched far tighter than she would ever admit.

Talos had spent the past three months attempting to track down every young quarian on pilgrimage in the Sahrabarik system, of which there had been at least fifteen, and most were on Omega. Six of them returned to the Flotilla with their respective contributions, and five had moved to other systems not long after she tracked them down. She had been keeping an eye on the rest while they continued their pilgrimages when she intercepted an odd message.

It originated from the Migrant Fleet and was, as far as Talos could discern, genuine.

She pulled out her omnitool and punched her passcode to access the hidden memory bank she used to store her intel on the Flotilla. She didn't dare keep sensitive information anywhere but her own person. A few more keystrokes and an imperfect hologram of a quarian man, distorted by distance and her rough means of obtaining it, flickered to life above the device.

"Origin: Admiral Han'Gerrel vas Neema. To all quarians abroad: All are recalled to the Migrant Fleet by order of the Admiralty Board, effective immediately upon receipt of message. Reason a matter of national security and the future of the fleet. _Keelah'selai_. Origin: Admiral Han'Gerrel vas Neema. To all quarians abroad: All are recalled to the Migrant Fleet –,"

Talos paused the message as it looped around a second time. "_Keelah'selai_," she muttered. The Admiral had spoken those words with an odd sort of emphasis. She lingered a few moments on the frozen image, her eyes narrowing, before shutting it down.

The four young quarians heeded the message, as they should have. Not a week ago, Zha'Gerrel had organized his fellows and together they bartered their way onto a human merchant vessel headed out from Omega to the Pylos Nebula. She followed them as far as Jonus, in the Nariph system, before they all went suspiciously silent.

She was concerned, but not overly so – they could have simply made a jump through the relay towards the Far Rim sooner than she thought. It was when she picked up some suspiciously encoded comm traffic she decided to act. These were uncertain times and unfortunately not many people looked out for quarians, even before the chaos. Meer'Talos always looked out for her own… whether the Admiralty Board wanted her to or not. But sometimes she couldn't do it alone, so here she was.

By the time the clock on her omnitool read 15.42 GST, three hours had passed and Talos wasn't surprised when someone buzzed her from the bridge.

"Excuse me, Captain?" Ah. The new human, called Sam.

She took a breath. "Yes?"

"Ma'am, we've reached Citadel space."

"Thank you, Sam," she closed the link and tilted her head back towards to the ceiling. The hum of the terminal hard at work blended with the sound and slight lurch of the _Haven_ dropping out of FTL. After a stop to vent the _Haven_'s drive core, they could attempt to dock at the Citadel.

Talos wondered how long it would take this time.

* * *

For those of you on Tumblr, I will probably update more frequently there!

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(just remove the spaces)


	2. 002

The Citadel.

It was two hours before the Haven was allowed to dock. After waiting in line for nearly another hour at an undermanned customs counter, Talos was finally allowed to approach the terminal and the turian C-Sec officer behind it. She noticed the officer look her up and down and twitch her nose in a particularly turian expression of disdain.

Talos tossed her ID card down onto the customs counter with a roll of her eyes and watched her look it over and scan it in the terminal.

"Captain Tallum'Hae," the officer pulled her arm back just as Talos reached for her ID. "What brings you here, so far from the Flotilla?" Her ship's register should still have listed a number of quarians as its crew, as opposed to the galactic patchwork it actually was, allowing her to pass for a captain of the Migrant Fleet.

"You don't really expect me to answer that," Talos asked.

A level stare said "yes."

"We needed refueling and to restock our food supplies," she grudgingly elaborated. A quarian traveling apart from the Migrant Fleet often meant a classified mission of national importance. This woman had to be green, to be asking her such stupid questions.

The officer nodded, but didn't appear placated. Instead she continued almost smugly, "Captain, your ship, the Haven? Its registration is nearly five years expired, and… not even registered in your name."

Shit. She'd forgotten about that little problem, and the officer was ready to sink her teeth into this – Talos had to mitigate the situation, and fast.

"Th- the Migrant Fleet had some difficulties changing its registration when we acquired it," A claim that was not wholly a lie, "It happens more often than you'd think."

"Right," the officer said humorlessly and turned back to the terminal in front of her. "That may be true, Captain, but I'm sure you understand we need to clear this up before we let you go. Many people have problems with ship registration when they first acquire one."

Talos glared at her from behind her mask. Was this good for nothing C-Sec bosh'tet actually accusing her of stealing this ship? She had, of course, but there was no reason for that to be the first conclusion drawn from this situation. And if this was going where she thought it was, she really didn't have time for this nonsense.

"Could you please follow me to the back room, Captain?"

"Wait–," she momentarily considered making a run for the exit, but she knew very well she wouldn't make it far.

"Captain," The turian gestured towards the door that apparently led to the back room, but Talos had spied a group of senior officers just beyond, one a sergeant and most likely in charge. With once last glance at the rookie in front of her, she slammed her hands down on the counter.

"How dare you treat me in such a disgraceful manner!" she shouted as loud as she could, her voice crackling a little through her mask's breather. "I have been a captain of the Migrant Fleet for over fifteen years," she glanced around – good, people were looking, including the turian's superiors. "I refuse to be treated like a common criminal!"

The officer appeared baffled. "But – but this is standard procedure for any discrepancies."

"I don't care – I'd die before stealing a ship!"

She was rattled and ready to say something stupid, Talos could tell, and the sergeant was closing in.

"Officer Dara," the older turian interjected, "What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm sorry sir, there were some problems with this quarian's ship registration–,"

"She implied that I _stole_ it," Talos said darkly.

"Y-yes, well you can imagine how I could come to that conclusion," Officer Dara replied with venom.

"What is that supposed to mean, Officer?" Suddenly, Talos wasn't acting.

"Captain, Officer Dara –," the C-Sec officer physically placed himself between the two. "I'm sorry for this misunderstanding, Captain Hae. I assure you that on your next visit to the Citadel you will be treated with more respect," he stressed the last word. He looked over the terminal screen. "Although you really should get your ship registration renewed properly. We will gladly assist you during your layover, at your convenience of course."

Talos took a deep breath. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Of course, simply stop by one of our offices in Zakera. I'll be happy to finish your processing. Officer Dara you are dismissed."

Officer Dara seemed floored. She narrowed her red eyes at Talos, but said nothing else. She saluted the Sergeant, turned and stalked away.

Turians. Talos shook her head.

Already exhausted and now a little frazzled, Meer'Talos made it through the remainder of customs and hailed a cab, making her way down through the lower levels of Zakera Ward. Arms of Caelax was her destination, a pretty damn good restaurant run by an old friend. Given their history, she supposed he would say "friend" was a strong word but she was going to work him over whether he liked it or not.

Under normal circumstances she might have found some temporary housing and planned this meeting a little better, eased him into it, not possibly beat down his door while he was sleeping, but there wasn't any time for that sort of courtesy. Even if she owed him at least that much. She just had to be as charming as she could possibly manage and hope that it was enough.

The cab dropped her at the main hub of level eleven and she was left to wander the cramped corridors of the 300 block, an older and more heavily populated area of the ward, on her own.

It was around here somewhere, she thought and double checked her omnitool to be sure.

A quarter of an hour later she found Arms of Caelax in a winding alley, wedged between a salvage shop and ramshackle hostel around which a small group of quarians were loitering. The little dive could have fit in the storage capsule she and her family used to call home back on the Flotilla, and the interior space was maximized almost as efficiently. There was a sign outside advertising food for turians, and human food once every three days.

It was open for business, thankfully, and very, very busy.

As she pushed her way into Arms of Caelax, she passed another sign indicating specially purified food available for her people, including a special discount for young quarians on pilgrimage. Talos shook her head and laughed. Not quite what she had expected from the crusty old bird, everything considered.

And there was he was now, behind the counter – time for the performance of her life.

"Rallus," Talos said with a smile plastered on beneath her mask, because otherwise the turian would be sure to hear it in her voice, "It's been too long."

* * *

For those of you on Tumblr, I will probably update more frequently there!

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	3. 003

_The Citadel_, Zakera Ward, _Arms of Caelax_.

Cadrian Rallius began his day at the same hour as always, all the way back to his military academy days on Palaven. Ten minutes in his bathroom no larger than a ventilation shaft, then dressed in another five and ready to relieve the human he hired to watch the restaurant during the few hours he slept. This had been his routine for nearly five years now, since he had shut down _Arms of Caelax_: the private security firm and opened _Arms of Caelax_: the dingy restaurant in a dingy corner of the Citadel.

He'd always enjoyed cooking, and he really did find some satisfaction running the restaurant – although in recent years he still found himself selling guns and muscle, for old time's sake. It hardly endeared him to C-Sec, but he had stopped caring years ago and quite frankly, they had bigger problems.

Rallius exited his tiny apartment into a narrow hallway that ran up to the kitchen. This room used to be his office but when that monster of an alien ship, Sovereign, broke apart and smashed into the Citadel two years ago it took out huge sections of the Wards, his apartment included. So now he lived off a cot shoved in between his desk and the wall. He had a few boxes of personal belongings but Rallius was never a very sentimental man, and he kept little. And with that tiny bathroom… well, he simply made do.

He never said living there was _pleasant_, exactly.

Barely four steps and he was in the kitchen. Rallius paused to observe his first shift cooks, already hard at work for four hours. He had seen them when they came in, before he retired to his apartment, and he always checked on them before going out front to tend the bar.

With a nod from Aternus and a wave from Dylan, he pushed his way through the swinging door and out on to the main floor. This was the busiest shift. Even though there was only simulated night and day on the Presidium, business still worked in cycles in the Wards. _Arms of Caelax_ was currently filled – nearly past capacity – with humans and turians and even few quarians. On the second shift he saw significantly more batarians and the occasional volus. It had only taken Rallius a few months to adjust to the flow of business here. Perhaps his change in career was meant to be.

He preferred the consistency. It made things simpler, always knowing what to expect next, and when. Although the Sovereign attack had really shaken things, the patterns were finally starting to even out and he was getting comfortable.

It certainly made sense that _she_ would show up just as things were growing normal once again.

Rallius spotted her the moment she walked in. Quarians were far from uncommon here and over the past five years he often wondered if it were she hiding behind one of those masks, but when he saw her again he realized he could have easily recognized her from a mile away. It wasn't her suit. No, that had changed. There was a different pistol on her belt. It was something about how she carried herself – broad and powerful like the soldier she was, and with that unmistakable swing to her hips that first drew his attention all those years ago when he stood behind another, filthier bar in another, filthier part of space. She had always left a strong impression, but Rallius knew just how quickly she could fold up and disappear into the darkness.

He knew it all too well.

He hoped he was wrong when she sat down in front of him, "Rallus," she practically purred, "It's been too long."

Rallius leveled a hard stare at the quarian in front of him and went right back to his datapad.

"Or maybe not long enough," he heard her say. There was a touch of dejection in her voice, although she attempted to mask it with laughter. She had not changed much. And she still couldn't pronounce his name correctly.

"Never long enough," he said shortly.

She was silent a moment. "Rallus, I have a business proposition for you."

"I don't make a habit of doing business with liars, traitors, or thieves," he slid the datapad into a small shelf below the bar register. "Or all three at once."

"Rallus–,"

"Rallius."

"_Rallus_."

He sighed, "What do you want, Talos?"

* * *

Officer Dara watched the ex-mercenary Rallius and that quarian disappear into the kitchen. The plate of food in front of her remained mostly untouched although she'd ordered it nearly a half hour ago. She was taking her time. She planned on being here for a while.


	4. 004

Talos followed Rallius back through the kitchen, down a narrow hall, and into a tiny office lit only by the blue glow of a data terminal.

Rallius tapped a button by the door and a watery overhead light flickered on above them. In that light he looked even older, if that was possible, Talos thought. She sat in the chair at the desk without asking and crossed her legs, allowing her fingers to run idly along the terminal keyboard.

The two stared at each other. Rallius' face was as effective a mask as the quarter inch thick polymer that separated Talos from the outside world.

"Well?" he grunted.

"These are… uncertain times," she began, "what with these rumors of Reapers and Cerberus. I've been keeping an eye on my kind. I have good reason to be worried."

Rallius said nothing, waiting for her to get to the point.

"I believe a group of young quarians on pilgrimage are being held against their will on the human colony Jonus," she added quietly, "most likely by Cerberus, or worse."

"What the hell do you want me to do about it?"

Talos frowned behind her mask. "I have not had command of a full crew since you and I," she faltered, "parted ways. I need you to fill the roster. Preferably with big ones who can hold a gun the right way and aim halfway decent."

Rallius' eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he sized her up. She sat up straight and held her shoulders square as she stared right back up at him, inhaling deeply and puffing out her chest. Talos was not leaving this room until he agreed.

"Don't worry, I don't need _you_. Just your soldiers."

"How many."

"At least thirty."

"Eighty thousand credits."

"Less than I thought."

Rallius grunted. He looked away to study the battered doorframe, "I'll arrange it. Should have everything together in a few days."

"By tomorrow."

The turian's head snapped back in disbelief. She watched his mandibles quiver and his nose twitch almost in unison. She remembered that face all too well. Perhaps she'd pushed it too far.

"Another forty thousand–," he ground out. His face and words were tight.

"Done," Talos agreed quickly and he seemed to relax by degrees.

"By tomorrow, then."

There was a silence that held on for a second too long.

"This is important, Rallus," she said.

"I don't know that. Don't need to. Random, is what it is."

Talos shrugged. She supposed it did appear random, but it wasn't really. She had to do this.

Regrets she had been running from for so long were finally catching up to her, and she didn't mean to simply lay back and let them crawl all over her.

* * *

"By tomorrow."

Rallius attempted to maintain a cool head in vain. _Thirty men in less than 12 hours?_ He only had thirty four men and women on payroll – he usually didn't need any more – and at least three quarters of his men were already on the job. He would either have to pull some from assignment or temporarily hire a load of idiots off the Citadel streets willing to shoot a gun for a few hundred credits. Neither prospect was encouraging.

A cruel part of himself that he often tried to ignore wanted to call it off right then and there. She could just go somewhere else that was stingy like a volus trader or a batarian whore in its prices and services. It was hardly any problem of his. He didn't owe her a damned thing. That thought made him even angrier.

With all the extra trouble and expenses, he needed to make it worth his while. "Another forty thousand–,"

"Done." Talos was quick.

Rallius had honestly been hoping she wouldn't accept the new terms. "By tomorrow, then."

An infuriating silence.

"This is important, Rallus," he heard her say. _Important_. The last time he'd heard her say _anything_ was important was when she had come running to him after abandoning her people. That was… nearly fifteen years ago now.

"I don't know that," he said, "Don't need to. Random, is what it is."

He couldn't fathom her shrug. He didn't try.

Talos looked down at her lap, thoughtful. When the glowing green oval lifted itself to meet his eyes again she said, "Fix me a drink?" Gone was the somber mood.

Rallius was incredulous only a moment, and then he sighed and opened the door. He gestured her through it rather awkwardly, and followed her down the hall and out to the bar.

* * *

He hadn't expected to be barricaded in that same hallway not five minutes later, after just barely ducking gunfire. All his eyes caught were yellow and black on white.


End file.
